Lyra now stood at the airport. After everything ended, after the police took Nicholas and Abigail away, she asked her father for permission to leave for a while.
She would distance herself for a time from the country where she was born and raised, to rebuild herself after the heartbreak and disappointment.
She did not even know how long she would be gone. All she knew was that she needed time, until she could truly come to terms with the bitter reality that had just shattered her life.
"Keep Daddy updated. Don't just disappear," Alberto Valtieri said, his voice firm yet filled with concern.
He knew his daughter very well. When Lyra was hurt, she could vanish without a trace, shutting herself off from the world as if no one could reach her.
He always knew where Lyra was. But as a father, that was never enough.
He wanted to hear it directly from his daughter, that she was doing fine. Or at least trying to be fine.
Lyra gave a faint smile. "Daddy knows where I am," she replied softly.
Her smile remained calm, but there was a distance she could not hide.
Alberto let out a long breath. He understood, his daughter did not want to be disturbed. Since long ago, Lyra had always kept her distance from anything related to emotions, especially love.
It had taken a long time, very long, before she finally opened her heart. And that man had destroyed it in the cruelest way.
"If you need anything, tell Daddy," Alberto said again, more gently this time.
Lyra nodded slightly, offering few words in response, but enough to show that she heard him.
Without looking back, Lyra stepped into the airport. Every step felt like a boundary, between a past full of wounds and something unknown waiting ahead.
She did not know what awaited her. But one thing was certain, she would not return as the same Lyra.
Paris was waiting for her. A city she had only visited for work or vacations now became her place of escape.
There, she would immerse herself in the world she had always loved, the world of fashion. She would create and build the part of herself she had never pursued before, because she had prioritized helping her father manage the company.
And there, little by little, she would learn to forget. Or at least, learn to live with the wound, without letting it destroy her again.
After a long journey that lasted for hours, Lyra finally arrived. She stepped out of the airport with steady movements, pulling her suitcase behind her. The Paris air greeted her colder, more unfamiliar, yet somehow calming.
She paused for a moment at the exit. Looking around, she then closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as if trying to fill the empty space inside her.
Slowly, a faint smile formed on her lips. A smile that was no longer fragile. The smile of someone ready to start over.
But the moment did not last long. Suddenly, a hard collision from behind pushed Lyra forward.
Her steps faltered, and she nearly fell. But before her body completely lost balance, a hand quickly pulled her back, wrapping around her waist, holding her to keep her from collapsing.
Lyra stood still for a few seconds, still trying to process what had just happened. Then she came to her senses and immediately brushed the hand away.
She straightened up and quickly turned around. Her gaze sharpened at the person who had just bumped into her. "Didn't you see someone standing in front of you?" her voice was cold, restraining her anger.
The man in front of her did not answer immediately. He simply looked at Lyra. He remained silent, as if evaluating her. Then he clicked his tongue softly.
That small sound instantly thinned Lyra's patience. Her brows lifted, her eyes narrowing. She placed both hands on her hips, clearly not accepting that attitude.
"Are you deaf?" her voice rose. "I'm talking to you."
The man finally gave a crooked smile. But the smile carried no warmth at all, only mockery. "This is a public walkway," he said casually, almost dismissively. "Not a place to stand around daydreaming."
He paused for a moment, then looked Lyra up and down. His gaze was sharp and piercing.
"Or…" he continued softly, his voice lowering, "after your failed wedding, your brain started malfunctioning?"
Lyra froze for a second, not because she was surprised, but because she was familiar with his attitude.
That sarcastic tone.
That way of speaking.
That irritating gaze.
She studied the man more carefully, from head to toe.
And in a single second, everything became clear. "Damn…" she muttered softly.
Her eyes widened in annoyance. "Whitmore."
Her tone changed, sharper and colder. "Just my luck to run into you here."
Lucien Whitmore, the man who had bumped into Lyra, smirked faintly. Unchanged, still just as irritating as before. Her enemy since their school days.
The man who had always competed with her in everything grades, achievements, even popularity. And now, he appeared at the moment she least wanted to see him.
Lyra scoffed in annoyance. Without intending to continue the conversation, she grabbed her suitcase again and turned to leave.
She did not want to waste her energy. Not on this man, and not today.
But as she passed Lucien, without hesitation, she stepped hard on his foot.
"Damn—"
Lucien hissed, reflexively holding back the pain. His eyes immediately shot toward Lyra, who kept walking without looking back.
"Lyra Valtieri!" he called in an irritated tone.
But the woman did not stop, as if he was not important enough to deserve her attention. And that only made Lucien's jaw tighten.
For a moment, Lucien truly wanted to chase after her, pull her back, and return all the irritating attitude she had just shown.
But he restrained himself. He did not have time. There was an important meeting that could not be delayed. With a rough exhale, he turned around and walked in the opposite direction from Lyra, as if the encounter had been nothing more than an inconvenient coincidence.
On the other hand, Lyra was already inside a taxi. Her suitcase was neatly placed beside her, while she leaned her head against the seat, staring out the window.
The view of Paris moved slowly beyond the glass, beautiful and calm. Yet her thoughts were still noisy. That brief encounter with Lucien Whitmore was enough to disturb her mood. Of all the places in the world, why did it have to be here?
Lyra let out a soft breath, then closed her eyes for a moment. She did not want to think about it, especially when she had just tried to start a new life.
Before leaving, Lyra had asked one thing of her father. She did not want to be followed, watched, or controlled. While in Paris, she wanted to truly be alone.
Even when it came to a place to stay, she refused any help. She wanted to find it herself, to decide everything in her own way.
Alberto had initially refused. But in the end, he gave in. He knew exactly what his daughter was like. Forcing Lyra would only push her further away, and that was the last thing he wanted.
Once, Lyra had disappeared for a week, without news, without a trace, and without anyone knowing where she was. For Alberto, that was more than enough to make him choose to give in. As long as he still knew where Lyra was, that was enough.
The taxi slowly stopped in front of a hotel. Lyra opened her eyes and looked outside. This journey was not just an escape. It was a beginning, the beginning of a new version of herself.
This time, she would not give anyone the chance to destroy her again. Especially not because of love.